The Meeting Room Is For Serious Business Only
by Ankaris123
Summary: Sometimes you realize, you didn't look as close as you should have. America is unhappy with this revelation especially since he's the last one to realize this. This results in? Competition. Happenings outside the meeting room. USCan, WorldxCanada
1. Interesting Development is Interesting

Title: The Meeting Room Is For Serious Business Only

Genre: Humour, General

Pairings: Main AmericaxCanada, side WorldxCanada, side Canon!pairings?

Warnings: Swearing, Crack, BL

Summary: Sometimes you realize, you didn't look as close as you should have. America is unhappy with this revelation especially since he's the last one to realize this. This results in? Competition. Things that happen outside the meeting room.

A/Ns: So the title has nothing to do with the actual fic itself. Now, this is a guilty pleasure fic thus I'll filling it with things I really like and want to see (i.e. Protective!Alfred, Fluster!Stillignored!Matthew, abused!ahoges, etc.) I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do.

**[Edit: I'm an idiot and put some inaccurate info in here. Sorry, it was midnight when I wrote it. Please forgive me!]**

Start Date: December 4, 2009

End Date: December 5, 2009

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The novelty hamburger-shaped alarm clock went off at 9 o'clock in the morning exactly, filling the dark room with recurrent ringing. The sole occupant groaned in annoyance, wincing as a stream of bright sunshine from the curtain-drawn window fell across his closed blue eyes.

After a couple more minutes of ultimate alarm clock endurance, he admitted defeat and rose from his warm bed. Turning the alarm off, he jabbed the power button for his stereo. Music blasted out at decibels close to airplane departures.

Surround sound. Fuck yeah.

Kicking a stray pair of pants to the side, he headed to the adjoined bathroom, bobbing his head to the heavy disco beat.

"Young man, there's a place you can go. I said, young man!' he shouted along to the music in the shower, 'when you're short on the dough. You can stay here, and I'm sure you will find many ways to have a good time!"

Slapping a towel over his wet hair, he sauntered over to the white porcelain sink, grinning into the steamed mirror.

" …they have everything that you need to enjoy, you can hang out with all the boooooooys…"

Rising a blond eyebrow at his reflection, he pulled out the blue and red toothbrush from the metal stand. It spun with ease and perfect control in his hand like a gun out of its holster.

He mock-aimed at his hazy reflection before smearing mint toothpaste onto the white bristles, singing all the while.

It was probably a bad idea to sing with toothpaste in his mouth.

"It's fun to stay at the Y. M. CUHgaaAAAAaaaack-" he choked, spitting out the foam and toothbrush into the sink.

Scratch out that 'probably'.

At that moment, someone was beating furiously on his door.

"Alfred! Get the fuck out of there now! The meeting is in ten minutes, you wanker," Arthur screamed at the polished oak door. The shiny metal plaque bearing the engraving AMERICA glinted innocently back at him.

Somehow the British man felt offended.

"And turn down that sorry excuse you call music, it's making my ears bleed!"

With that final note, he stomped down the hall to the meeting room in a huff of swelling irritation.

Oblivious to the commotion, Alfred continued his morning routine, one hand combing down his damp locks with a fine toothed comb and the other rubbing his chin.

Hmm, still no stubble.

He brightened up when catching sight of his frown in the mirror.

A hero should never look so defeated!

Whimsical humming overpowered by the sheer volume of the music, the blond squinted through the darkness at the blurry objects on the carpet then deciding on the principle of eeny-meeny-miny-mo, chose his outfit for the day. Flicking on the light and jamming Texas on his face, he ducked back into the bathroom to check his appearance.

Fabulous.

He blinked and coughed.

_Awesome_.

"That's better."

Pulling on his socks as he hobbled towards the door, he pocketed the keycard and grabbed a manila envelope of what should be important documents. The soft black wool of his bomber jacket tickled his face as he shrugged it on.

Tapping on his shoes, he grasped the doorknob and opened it with a flourish, stepping out onto the sun-bathed hallway.

"Another great day in America."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

So he lied, the meeting wasn't held in America. He couldn't quite remember which country he was in, maybe Belgium, since he had fallen asleep on the plane ride over. Besides, he did this every couple months, there's not much point to remembering where it's held every time, right?

He whistled his national anthem shrilly, strolling down the hall at his leisure.

There was some sort of commotion down by the meeting room entrance.

"Hey! What's up?" he yelled at the crowd. No one replied, too busy being busy with something that was not Alfred.

Well, that ticked him off since that shouldn't be possible.

"Alright, alright, what's the hold up?" he shouted over the hubbub, pushing his way into the crowd of personified nations.

"Oh, Alfred-san, good morning," Japan greeted. The demure man was standing at the edge of the crowd in an off-standish manner. Curiously, his fingers seem to twitch towards the camera hanging around his neck.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

"Ah, that would be Canada-san…"

"Canada?" America raised an eyebrow, racking his memory for a clearer explanation.

Canada. Let's see.

Brother of his, possibly twin, blond, hair thingy, maple syrup, maple leaves, maple-maple…

And that about covers it. So what was so interesting about his brother that everyone is involved?

He decided to find out.

"Open the way! Move it!"

Elbowing his way through the crowd, much to the crowd's displeasure, he nearly rammed right into Russia and Belarus who hissed at his proximity to her beloved brother. Alfred paused for a moment and observed the area. There appears to be some sort of impregnable ring of people separating from his desired designation. He scouted for a weak point in their defense and executed the optimal choice, crashing his way through between Hungary and Belgium.

"What _is_ going on here?"

Inside the ring of people stood Canada – Matthew – looking slightly underdressed, where did his coat go anyways, and clutching his arms to his chest. The polar bear he insisted on dragging around everywhere was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, Al," Matthew sighed almost in relief. "I-"

"Don't lie, we saw it!" Hungary interrupted, a furiously blushing Ukraine to her left. Belgium nodded fervently in agreement, staring intense at the timid Canadian.

Did Bella just lick her lips?

_Weird_.

"What lie?" Alfred asked.

Now his curiosity has been piqued.

"N-nothing! Nothing at all!" Matthew squeaked, hiding his front to the best of his abilities. "I-it just shrunk in the wash and-" He seemed to shrink under America's disbelieving scrutiny.

"Some assistance!" the American snapped. An eager France appeared at his side.

"F-francis! W-wha-" Matthew stuttered as his arms were pulled behind his back and held firmly in place. It was useless to struggle but he attempted anyways.

"Hmm," Alfred hummed, leaning close and examine Canada's torso. Said nation's face steadily reddened.

"Hmmmmmmmmm."

Alfred looked up, peering into the blue-violet eyes staring fearfully around him.

He frowned.

Ignored again? What was the world coming to?

Maybe he was too close. He could practically count the individual threads in Matthew's tight t-shirt.

T-shirt?

He leaned back a little.

Yup.

Backtrack.

Tight?

He allowed his eyes to roam down his brother's upper body.

_Tight_.

Ignoring the rekindled mutters issuing from the crowd around them, Alfred blinked, polished Texas with the corner of his shirt and looked again.

Maybe it was an optical illusion.

Perhaps a closer inspection was in order.

Unceremoniously, he grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and yanked it up to Matthew's chin, eliciting a squeak from the Canadian and several high-pitched squeals from the girls.

Cue louder muttered conversations from surroundings.

Was that a camera flash?

"Hmmmmmmmm."

Nope, it was still there.

He reached up with one hand and traced the light muscle contours of his twin's body.

"A-al…" Matthew protested weakly, shivering when the finger dragged across his exposed skin.

"Hmm."

Alfred assessed the entire situation as a whole. Matthew blushed harder from embarrassment and nervousness as his brother looked him up and down.

Then all at once it made sense.

"Well, fuck me, Mattie, you have a nice body. Where have you been hiding it from me all this time?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/Ns: OTL. The crack. I'm sorry if someone is out of character. I just had to tap this out. I'm also sorry of there are mistakes in this, I have a tendency to typo words into other words and I didn't have a beta look over this. Hope you enjoyed it? I'll have more once I get time to write.

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Defensive Maneuver 49, go!

Title: The Meeting Room Is For Serious Business Only

Pairings in this chapter: AmericaxCanada, PrussiaxCanada, FrancexCanada

Warnings: Swearing, Crack, BL, possible OOCness.

Disclaimer: Forgot this last chapter. Only own the storyline for this fic and nothing else.

A/Ns: More crack! From here on out it'll be really random so I apologize if the lack of coherent storyline gets to you! It's mostly going to be patching together bits of conversations I've had with my friend into a story-like pattern. I apologize about any inaccurate information of real world organization, processes, etc. Don't take it from me; I'm skimming info for the sake of writing moderately realistic crack. Chapter length will vary.

Start Date: December 5, 2009

End Date: December 5, 2009

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I-I haven't been hiding anything f-from you!" Canada muttered then blushed even harder if possible at the implications of his words. There was a strange gleam in Hungary's eyes. "I-I mean, you just never really noticed! A-and that's not _my_ fault…"

He trailed off, looking withdrawn, posture slumping.

Several thoughts ran through America's head, each fighting for his immediate attention.

This was an interesting development.

_Discovery_.

Uh, right.

He was then aware of the amount of low key conversation around him.

Now, this just won't do.

"Alright, listen up!" Alfred announced. If there was a table, he'd be standing on it. Pity the hallway was devoid of table-like objects.

Maybe he should make a recommendation to the department in charge of interior design…

Anyhow, back on topic.

He cleared his throat importantly.

Everyone was still mumbling to each other. Most of the girls were huddled together, discussing the current development in rapid speech. A few of the more bold ones, Hungary, made obscenely inappropriate hand gestures as she spoke. Her Austrian husband blushed behind her and looked away. Ukraine who kept glancing at Matt's still-exposed torso could only nod her head a fraction whenever Ivan made a barely audible comment in Russian. Somewhere in the back of the crowd, there was a squabble of Asiatic exclamations and something about breasts.

All in all, no one was paying attention.

This was too much.

"Ahem!" He cleared his throat again and slammed his hand against the meeting door for emphasis. The sheet of A4 paper baring the words SRSBZNONLY in bright red Sharpie pen rattled against the wood of the door to which it was taped. It was a very attractive sign, America thought. After all, he did put it up himself. Now if only there was a little more blue on it…

He looked around to see startled and disgruntled faces staring back him.

Now this was more like it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I can't watch…" Matthew whimpered. Matthew was a smart boy and had long since figured out the equation Alfred plus Announcements multiplied by the number of Nations of present equated to disaster. However he did not expect the large hand slide up to cover his eyes, pushing his oval-frame glasses up to his forehead.

"F-francis? I-is that you?" It made sense since the French man was still restraining him from behind. God knows why, _oh_, wait, he better not-

"_Oui_, Matthieu. You seemed, _ah_, occupied at the moment," And whose fault do you think that is? "so I thought I could lend you a hand," Francis chuckled in Parisian French. Warm breath tickled his bare neck from their proximity, the sensation heightened by his inhibited vision. The smaller blond swallowed thickly and made another halfhearted attempt to break free.

Fuck his life.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"I'll only say this once! Mattie bel-" Alfred stopped in mid-statement. His Mattie-Radar was blaring in his face. It was a code red according to the display.

He tapped the edge of Texas, wondering if the program was malfunctioning.

Maybe he should've asked Japan for help on the installation.

It was getting difficult to see through the blinking light on the lenses.

Maybe he shouldn't have installed it in Texas.

Fuck, it must be France. He knew he couldn't trust him to keep his hands to himself.

Having rarely (never) used this particular function since Canada pretty much fell off the radar in terms of existence in the world most of the time, the American couldn't recall for the life of him how to turn it off.

Wait a minute, a code yellow too?

That's impossible; he was standing right in front of Mattie. That's the ultimate defense right there!

He whipped around, hands readied to deliver a chopping blow to the intruder's cranium.

"Well, hello there, delicious body. Come here often?" the intruder said, addressing Canada's bare torso with a grin that could only be described as borderline lecherous.

It was Prussia.

The albino was standing too close to Mattie's delicious body for his liking.

"'Cause, you know, since I'm _so_ awesome, I don't mind giving you a tour of the area. I'm familiar with these parts _if_ you catch my drift," he said, tracing his finger along the Canadian's chest. Gilbert decided he liked the responding shiver as his fingers drew circles on the snow white skin.

Alfred slapped the red-eyed man's hand away in irritation after a momentary distraction in the form of a soft moan. Damn, Mattie shouldn't do that in public.

"No touching!"

Prussia pouted (he later insisted he was frowning and the awesome extruding from his very being befuddled most viewers into perceiving it as pouting) and backed off grudgingly, glancing around him to make sure he was as far away from Russia as possible.

Alfred gave his twin brother an exasperated look, promptly becoming distracted (yet again) by the _interesting_ display before him. Did Mattie _have_ to look so alluring blinded and restrained? The light blush and heavy breathing wasn't helping him calm down his sympathetic nervous system particularly in his lower regions.

See? He can use long wordy medical terms when he wanted to too.

Hmm, maybe he should invite himself into Mattie's house more often.

Preferably when he's in the middle of changing.

Or showering.

Mmm.

The dead silence was starting to get to him, apart from, of course, the barely audible panting from his brother. It was quite pleasant really – damn, this _was_ distracting.

Stripping off his coat, he pried Matthew out of France's grasp ("We _shall_ continue later, mon cher.") and wrapped it around his shoulders. The Canadian muttered a quiet thank you, fixing his glasses absently and avoided eye contact by staring at his leather shoes.

"Now, listen all you people, nations, whatever!" Several nations scoffed in offense. "Mattie is-"

Code yellow, _again_?!

This time he caught the warning quick enough to see a head of light brown hair moving stealthily out of the corner of his eye.

Narrowing her eyes like a hawk, Elizaveta lunged into a forward roll much to the chagrin of her husband, effectively closing the distance between her the two North American nations. Stabilizing herself with a well-placed footstep, knee, and hand, a flash of triumph crossed her face as she raised her head to meet Matthew's confused gaze. Alfred turned sharply on his heel, startled by the girl's audacity, reaching out to protect his brother. The crowd around them watched the unfolding scene with bated breath.

She smirked deviously and reached into an inner pocket.

Not on his watch!

Military-ingrained instincts urged Alfred to react before the Hungarian could pull out whatever dastardly weapon she had hidden in her pretty dress. Within a split second, he decided on the appropriate defensive maneuver and grabbed Mattie's chest ("_Those_ belong to Korea!") in an attempt to preserve his decency.

A brilliant flash lit the room as Mattie tipped backwards, bumping his clothed shoulders against the wall.

"Al!" he screamed in mortification, ripping Alfred's hands away from his chest, his heart going a million miles a second.

Alfred frowned at the loss of skin contact but recovered almost instantly.

Hungary smiled brightly up at them, the digital camera in her hands whirred as the lens retracted.

"Lovely shot, boys." She smoothed out the skirt of her dress as she rose gracefully from the kneeling position not a hair out of place (how did she do that?), walking with a jump in her step back to the circle of girl nations.

"I _can't_ believe you," Belgium giggled, slapping the brunette's arm playfully. Seychelles leaned over to get a closer look at the photo on the display screen.

"I'll be confiscating that (and keeping a copy on my portable hard drive)," said America, "…later perhaps," he added after receiving both a warning stare from Roderich and a chilling glare reminiscent of Russia from Hungary herself.

"Now, where was I?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

This day was not going well.

Canada had woken up at the sensible hour of half-past seven. Having fallen asleep promptly at arrival earlier that morning, he stumbled through his morning routine in the modest confines of his temporary room only to find the several bottles of maple syrup he brought along in his suitcase had burst and soaked his clothes generously in the sweet condiment. He managed to fish out a pair of clean slacks from the pile. Boy, did he dislike customs now.

Completely due to chance, his duffel bag carry-on contained a single white t-shirt which he put on as he was reluctant to go down the hall half-naked to borrow a shirt from his brother. It was a bit tight but it would do. He knew he shouldn't have left without wearing his usual coat but it was summer and even a couple seconds in it left him uncomfortably warm.

And where in the world was Kumajirou?

Anyhow, down the halls he went, keeping an eye out for his furry friend until he was confronted by a rather confused Germany and the Italian twins. It didn't take long for the rest of the NATO nations to arrive on the scene as well several who shouldn't be there in the first place (why were the Asiatic nations there? This wasn't a UN meeting and besides, those were usually held at headquarters in the United States. He hadn't received a memo for an upcoming World meeting either).

Now, Matthew was rather opposed to his invisibility in terms of worldly affairs but he didn't quite appreciate the attention his small t-shirt was garnering.

He had a sinking suspicion that this was the unwanted attention his former father figure (the English one not the French) had warned him against.

Once his frivolous brother America arrived on the scene, he knew nothing good would come out of it.

Still, he didn't expect it to get this bad though he should've known better.

As Alfred stared down the other nations, the door to the meeting room opened with a click behind them, revealing a mightily displeased Englishman.

_Fuck_ his life.

"What are you all doing loitering out here, making such a racket?! The meeting started minutes ago," he said through gritted teeth, his thick eyebrows knitting together. Obviously, he's been waiting for their arrival for some time.

A few nations looked at each other and then back at the Englishman.

"Bloody sods," he cursed under his breath. Then he caught sight of his two former New World colonies.

"Wha-_have you no decency, lad_?" Arthur sputtered, red in the face. He averted his gaze from Matthew's still exposed chest. Realizing this, the Canadian quickly yanked his t-shirt down. Disappointed murmurs arose from the crowd.

"I-I can explain-" Matthew started to say. America interrupted him swiftly as per norm.

"Just getting rid of the riff-raff, Iggy, we'll be done in a jiff," Alfred said, giving him a thumbs up and a toothy grin for reassurance.

"You better!" The door slammed shut.

"Al-alfred, we should, um-"

"Hush, Mattie, just stand back and look delectable."

"Bu-"

"Clear off! If you're not here for the NATO conference, I suggest you leave now. You too," Alfred said, pointing smugly at the Russian and his sisters. "This is for original members only. No Partnership in Peace members (take that, you Commie, ha!)."

"We will be seeing you later, da? Comrade Matvey," said Ivan pleasantly, addressing the flustered Canadian as a few nations grumbled about their treatment and started down the hall towards their respective rooms.

"Y-yeah…" There was a hint of something sinister in the Russian's tone that did not sit well with him. Then again, this wasn't unusual. Still…

"See you later," Ukraine whispered, following after her brother. Belarus was already by Ivan's side, matching pace after giving the two a curt albeit unenthusiastic nod.

That better not have been murder in her eyes…

At least the commotion has gone down now.

Matthew sighed deeply, subconsciously inhaling Alfred's scent off the bomber jacket he was wearing. It was quite soothing, nostalgic of their younger days even.

He looked over to where his brother was snapping at the nations that lingered close by.

Alfred wasn't so bad all the time, he supposed. Maybe this incident was for the better, perhaps he was bonding better with his brother-

"And don't forget, Mattie is property of America!"

…well, fuck that last thought.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/Ns: Bad action sequence is bad. Sorry author is sorry. This chapter isn't as crack-y but I needed something to continue on from the last chapter, I apologize for the boring story transition! Lots of nations didn't get a lot of screen time but they will in following chapters! Promise! Also, Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine (as well as other nations) are part of the Partnership in Peace which allows them a certain level of involvement in NATO as 'partner states' although NATO seems to have no intentions in extend full invitation to them. Details may be wonky so I'm sorry if they are inaccurate! Also, I'm pretty sure it's actually the parasympathetic nervous system that has to do with um, arousal, so uh, better luck next time, Alfred. My Matthew is so unhappy, poor guy.

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. What Is This A Musical?

Title: The Meeting Room Is For Serious Business Only

Pairings in this chapter: AmericaxCanada, (heavily) implied FrancexUK, minor PrussiaxCanada and SeychellesxCanada

Warnings: Swearing, Crack, BL, possible OOCness.

Disclaimer: Only own the storyline for this fic and nothing else.

A/Ns: On winter break now, loads of time to shovel out the fanfic generator. Hopefully I'll be prolific with updates.

Start Date: December 16, 2009

End Date: December 18, 2009

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

If one should look down the residency hall that very same afternoon, late afternoon as the sun was beginning to drop behind the horizon, an interesting sight would be present in the form of a blond man and a door.

Presently said blond man was trying his best to stare down the closed door as though it could give him the answer to his current dilemma. The one-sided battle lasted several minutes, neither side backing down. The door had an obviously immunity as the blond man received no such result. It had an unfair advantage, being an inanimate object and all.

This interrogation was going nowhere fast. Diplomatically, Alfred drew up a truce and it was mutually promised that neither side would talk about this again.

Straightening his tie, Alfred raised his fist making to knock on the door, hesitated, and thought some more.

Should he really wing it? It didn't always work, but heck, was it easy.

Maybe this should be thought out more carefully.

As it stands, Alfred was attempting to draw up a concise and diplomatic yet touching apology before confronting his brother. Sure, he wasn't certain that it was _his_ fault that Canada left the meeting room crying.

Then again he did hit him in the face during the presentation. Who told him to sit next to him anyways?

Oh wait, he, America, did.

Why didn't he protesting?

Oh wait, he did.

Ah.

Guess it is his fault then.

Probably.

Anyways, apologies were always hard for America, probably because it's rarely required of him. Hell, he's a hero. Heroes always act according to justice and freedom and justice and freedom are _never_ wrong.

But a slap to the nose probably wasn't on justice and freedom's to-do list nor was a complaint about the interfering placement of certain body parts.

Probably.

Either way, Matthew was upset and as his caring twin brother, Alfred will make it all better. It's what a hero does.

He glared at the door again, this time at the name plate. The name plate did not bend to his will either.

It must be in cahoots with the door then.

Figures.

After roughly ten minutes and forty-seven seconds, a brilliant revelation dawned on the blond man. He turned on his heel and marched down the hall, grinning triumphantly.

When you can't think of what to say, quote someone else.

And what better apology could there be but in song?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Alfred cleared his throat and gazed up to the open window on the third floor of residence. Night was fast approaching, adding a dramatic flair to his upcoming performance.

Show time.

"Sometimes I just forget, say things I might regret, it breaks my heart to see you cryiiin'," he bellowed, relatively in tune. He even threw in a dramatic raised arm. They did it in the movies an awful lot anyways so it must be doing _something_.

Hey, it's not easy trying to project his voice that far up while singing _and_ while trying to remember the lyrics and still get it in tune.

"I don't wanna lose youuu, I could never, uh, _make_ it alooone."

Those were the right words, right?

After several more strains of quasi-Peter Cetera imitation, his memory in regards to the song lyrics dissolved into phrases of less than four syllables. In a desperate attempt to keep his singing seamless, he fitted in words that seemed to go well with the tune.

But he was pretty sure that 'Glory of Love' didn't mention dog-sized cows or ballistic missiles or the pentagon or peanut butter salad but as they always say, it's the thought that counts. Besides, there should be a version with the aforementioned objects included.

He could practically smell a number one hit.

Not that he knew what one smelled like.

If it had a smell at all.

Getting off track now.

"Alfred?"

He turned to the figure approaching him from the left.

"Mattie! Just the guy I'm looking for! Er, well, not really looking for per se, but, uh, wait, why aren't you in your room?" Here he made a gesture halfway between a point and straight-karate chop towards the open window he was singing to. The curtains inside rustled despite the absence of a good, strong breeze.

Canada blinked his violet-blue eyes and replied slowly.

"My room's on the other side of the building."

"Oh."

No biggie. Let the concert continue!

Where was he again?

"Did you need to see me for something?" Canada said, his tone underlined with a hint of precaution at Alfred's disappointed face.

The t-shirt from earlier was definitely nicer to look at. Still, the white button-up shirt wasn't too bad especially with the top couple buttons undone.

It would look better with all the buttons undone.

"Yeah, sort of."

Ah, fuck it, he can't remember where he left off and the memory of Mattie's torso was distracting him from coherent thought. Might as well jump to his favourite part.

"I'll be the man who will fight for your honooour, I'll be the heeero that you're dreaming of-"

An interruption came in the form of a curt, angry remark from above.

"Shut the fuck up!"

It also came with a bucket of water.

That wasn't nice.

Canada didn't look exactly nice at the moment either.

Well, the now see-through cotton-polyester blend dress shirt gave a very appetizing view of the previously mentioned torso which _was_ indeed quite nice.

But no, he was talking about the dark look on Canada's face (which was framed rather nicely by wet blond hair darkened to a soft caramel brown from the dampness) that seemed to deepen the longer his distracted gaze shifted to the delicious view several inches lower.

Uh oh, maybe he lingered a bit too long, there was something close to murder in the Canadian's narrow eyes.

"…Mattie?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The empty metal bucket clanged as it dropped to the floorboards carelessly. Unhappy with its treatment, it rolled in a semi-circle under a nearby nightstand, leaving a trail of cold water in irritated protest.

England glanced out the window at Canada who was screaming obscenities in utter frustration that his only freshly laundered white shirt (the others got mixed with a red hoodie in the wash and gained a pleasant pink tint) was soiled so quickly after changing into it.

He smirked briefly at the slightly cowering America opposite the enraged Canadian, drew the curtains shut, and closed the window for good measure.

Wanker.

"Tu as fini? _Finalement_. Let us continue, _non_?" purred a low, accented voice from the direction of the bed.

"I'll take all the bloody time I want!" he snapped, fumbling with the buttons on his hastily put on shirt. "Fucking perv…"

A larger hand caught his with a chuckle.

"Permettez-moi to assist you, _mon cher_."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Matthew of the Northern Country of Canada sat hunched over the bar counter, absentmindedly fiddling with his tumbler of amber liquid as he promptly blocked out the flowing stream of chiding directed at him.

Actually it was less of a stream and more like a dam had been broken by an unexpected overnight rainstorm.

"…and really, is this the correct way to behave, Matthew? I thought I raised you better than this and it's not like Alfred was the one who drenched you in water. Not directly from what I've heard," England rambled to deaf ears. Seeing the glazed, far-off look in his former colony's eyes, he crossed his arms in a disapproving manner. "Are you listening to me, Matthew?"

No, he was not.

Running a hand through his short hair, Arthur sighed heavily at having to deal with such immaturity never minding that it was he who was the perpetrator behind the bucket of water.

Details, details.

"Give me that," he said, prying the alcoholic beverage out of his hand. Canada replied with a protesting grunt, resting his chin on the smooth countertop. He picked and pulled at the tight white t-shirt he was once again wearing much to the approval of the other bar occupants.

In loud voices too.

"…and straighten up!" England snapped, jabbing the spine to rectify the bad posture. He was answered with another grunt.

"Look, just apologize to Alfred already!"

After handing the glass to the bemused bartender, he promptly stomped out of the door. The second his polished leather oxfords left the room, Matthew ordered another three drinks.

"Put that on my tab, barkeep."

Turning his mildly influenced blond head, he was confronted by a grinning Prussia, lounging comfortably on the bar stool. This feat should not be attempted after five drinks and a punch to the noggin. Prussia's awesome aided in its process however.

"So, I heard you blew your top at America today, nice one!" he exclaimed appreciatively, taking one of the three glasses the bartender placed on the counter.

Grunt.

Prussia nodded, assessing it as grateful approval.

Actually it was something more along the lines of fuck off, can't you see he's sulking?

"Fuck off, can you see I'm sulking?" the blond mumbled, raising his head a fraction to tip some of the alcohol into his mouth. It burned all the way down.

He smacked his lips.

Red eyes fixed on the tip of Matthew's tongue that swept over his bottom lip as Prussia took a swig and gave his reply.

"Feisty thing, aren't you? Never seen this side of you before."

Snort.

Since when has anyone seen _any_ side of Canada? Oh, probably as much as Kumajirou remembered who he was, wherever the bear has gotten to. Divided by the number of languages in the world and after a big fat negative sign got affixed to it, of course. For the arithmetic-challenged, it was somewhere close to, if not equal to, zero. America, England, and France did not count as even they went through the pleasant-discovery-to-awkward-nervous-apologetic cycle every, say, time they met. Of course, he wasn't exaggerating. No, not one bit.

He coughed indignantly at his rampant thoughts and tugged at his shirt collar.

Canada wasn't born yesterday. He knew something called tact which in his mental dictionary was synonymous with best-not-to-make-enemies-when-you-can-avoid-it,-eh? The alcohol was doing a fair job unhinging the diplomatic filter on his mind so far though.

"All you people fucking suck."

And his mouth.

"No way! Not awesome me! Maybe everyone else to some extent but _never_ me, unless you count when I, uh, well," the albino man protested loudly before changing the subject cleverly. "You know, America never does get his fair share of thrashing. Hey, you know what you should do?"

Although Matthew was well-aware even in his moderately intoxicated state of the Prussian's invasion of his personal space (the hand that was initially placed on his shoulder was making a too-hasty-to-be-subtle journey down his back), he found himself suddenly all ears to the devious words coming out of the white-haired man's mouth.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Rubbing his eyes, America headed straight for the cafeteria that moonlighted as a classy bar after assuring there were no longer signs of crying on his face.

It's been a long day and he really needed a good, hard drink.

Damn, Canada, he's got quite the mouth on him.

Quite the mouth indeed.

Mmm…

Blinking, he quickly derailed that train of thought with a badly made, mental barricade. There was no way he was going to let Matthew off that easily. He turned the corner sharply, frightening an unremarkable bell boy.

No, definitely not. Even if he's got a nice body.

The soles of his expensive sneakers narrowly missed stepping on a piece of chewing gum that if viewed no farther than three inches away at an incident angle of 60 degrees inclination at the neck joint and reasonably squinted eyes, its shape astonishingly resembled the Special Administrative District of Hong Kong.

And a nice butt.

He was approaching the cafeteria entrance now.

And man, he looked just as attractive with a glare as with a smile.

Which was exactly why all lingering anger towards his Northern neighbour took a dive through the metaphoric window and out the back of his mind when he was abruptly confronted with a face full of attractive glaring.

Sure, he was still pissed off somewhere in the depths of his mind, it just wasn't in the driver's seat the moment. For the sake of censorship, the present driver will remain unnamed.

Matthew growled and grasped a fistful of Alfred's shirt clumsily but with force and stared up (his bad slouch made a comeback) with hazy violet-blue eyes.

All back seat driving was promptly ignored as well.

America duly noted in a distant way that Canada was wearing the t-shirt again.

He could practically hear the blood in his body rerouting.

"Alfred…" he hissed darkly, uncomfortably close. Every pair of eyes in the bar was directed at them in silent curiosity.

"Uh," Alfred replied smartly.

This was immediately followed by a stream of incoherent French. Alfred retained very little of his French education which hadn't been a whole lot in the first place so the meaning was lost to him, but damn, the words, _that voice_, it hit something deep inside him and accordingly something more south.

As suddenly as it had started, it came to an end as the Canadian pushed past him with a gentle hand. Alfred stood for a few bewildered seconds, the patrons of the establishment went back to their conversations, and strode up to the counter where a Prussia who looked like the cat that caught the canary greeted him amicably.

What was that all about?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Canada!" cried a female voice down the hall. It took half a minute for Matthew to register the shout and look behind him. He had taken two steps out the door. Two and half actually, his foot remained hovering a few centimetres from the carpet.

Seychelles reached him momentarily with a light blush on her pretty tanned face that was not the result of alcohol consumption.

"Papa would kill you if he heard what said back there," she huffed, tugging on one of her pigtails. "You know how he is about unnecessary vulgarity."

Prussia's piercing drunken laugh came from behind them. Grabbing his sister by the wrist, Matthew tugged her down the hall.

"Let's get out of here," he muttered, ignoring the growing redness on her face.

They advanced perhaps eight steps down the hall when an incredulous outcry shook the building down to its foundations.

"He said _what_ about my dick?!"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The frightened bell boy was once again nearly ran into (and frightened) as the blond man in a different set of clothes careened around the corner dragging a flustered girl behind him. Now, as an employee of a reputable organization he was not entitled to nosiness of any form.

But he could've sworn the man was singing under his breath as he passed.

Something along the lines of:

"…it's not what you do with it; it's the size that counts."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A/Ns: And there you have it. My Matthew is quite an ass when he's drunk, eh? Who knew four years of high school French would be put to use in fanfiction. I apologize for inaccuracies anyhow. There are at least twelve more ideas fuelling the next chapters. Stay tuned!

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed.**


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